


How to Make an Entrance (With Cider)

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural, Superwho - Fandom, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M, Parades, Well THIS didn't go where I was expecting it to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the Harkstiel Holiday Advent. Jack leaves Castiel in the midst of a holiday parade. Not that Castiel minds - there's plenty of opportunity to eavesdrop on the humans around him. But honestly... is Jack ever coming back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Make an Entrance (With Cider)

Castiel leaned back against a lamp post, adrift in a sea of humanity, and listened. A merry throng waited on either side of the street like the banks of a river, while just upstream the lights of fire engines flashed. Jack had been gone for ten minutes, but Castiel wasn't concerned. He listened quietly to the conversations going on around him, all of them inane; every one fascinating. Just to his left, a pair of mothers exchanged stories about herding their children - a marching band flautist and drummer, respectively - to the parade in time to take their places. Their tone put Castiel in mind of some war veterans.

Behind him, a couple explained to a nearby friend how they'd discovered a poisoned hamburger bait near their property line, presuming it was meant for their dog. The dog in question sat at her master's heel, revealing in a moment's commune with Castiel that every territory near hers was busy with coyotes and foxes. They frightened her, but she thought her barking would keep them away. When Castiel warned her about the poisoned bait traps, she snorted, replying that every predator in the neighborhood could smell the poison a mile off. She wasn't hungry enough, the dog said, her people put out enough food for her AND the entire local raccoon population.

The fire engines passed them now, laying out siren blats that startled infants to screaming. Several children in front of Castiel ducked, covering their ears. Up until then, they'd been discussing candy with singleminded intensity. Favorite brand and flavors were traded, as well as opinions on whether licorice tasted like dirt, worms, garbage, or a combination of all three. 'Why do they even MAKE that flavor?' one of them asked. They were all anticipating candy from the parade, and hoping it wasn't bubble gum. By their input, Castiel was able to surmise that 'Dubble Bubble' was the worst kind, even worse than 'Bazooka' (which apparently had the bonus of a tiny comic), and lost its flavor in seconds. Or maybe fractions of a second - either that, or these children were just learning about decimal points and fascinated thereby.

He was starting to wonder if Jack was ever coming back.

The fire department and police equipment was replaced by convertibles containing attractive young women in fur-collared dresses and tiaras. They waved at the crowd, the canvas banners on the vehicles in which they rode proclaiming them 'Miss Rock Island,' 'Miss Iowa,' 'Miss Junior Rock Island,' 'Fair Queen,' and so on. There were the marching bands - the mothers beside him applauded and shouted for their children by name - and floats coated in colored lights and sparkling white cotton batting. People walked alongside with buckets of candy (some of them branded with Dubble Bubble, Castiel noted), in full costumes, boas of lights or antlered headbands. Troops of Girl Scouts dressed as clunky wrapped Christmas gifts were led by elderly women in holiday sweaters and haloes. There were no few white-robed angels, Castiel observed with a mix of exasperation and humor. 

A pair of proud black horses passed, harnessed in polished leather and hitched to an antique open carriage. Clinging to the back of that carriage - and saluting the crowd with a steaming white styrofoam cup - was Captain Jack Harkness. He had one boot planted on the footman's step, the other dangling out as if he'd leap off any minute, which he did as soon as he picked Castiel out of the crowd. Without spilling a drop from his cup, Jack kissed the cheek of the lady in the back of the carriage and launched himself into the crowd. He caught Castiel around the waist - who'd by now moved past the children waiting at the curb - dipped him one handed, and kissed him like a Bing Crosby holiday finale. He presented the cup to Castiel with a flourish once he'd put them both upright again, prompting a few whoops from their audience.

With a sigh that he didn't really mean, Castiel accepted the cup, tasting it as Jack pulled him into the throng to the sidewalk. Cinnamon and clove curled up to his nose with sugary citrus rind, even before he tasted the apple. It was cider, steaming hot, and he'd have closed his eyes if they weren't moving. Which they were, briskly. Trotting, almost. "You found them?" Castiel asked.

"I did!" Jack called, "Come on, Archer, we've got to hurry!"

Six blocks north, they found their quarry. Jack was ahead of Castiel by three steps by the time they arrived. "I told you I'd find him!" Jack shouted, as the family of Martha Jones and Mickey Smith enveloped them both in hugs.


End file.
